


Dinner With The Dead

by BeveStuscemi



Category: Metal Gear
Genre: Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-19
Updated: 2018-03-19
Packaged: 2019-04-04 11:20:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,505
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14019156
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BeveStuscemi/pseuds/BeveStuscemi
Summary: Seven months before the Virtuous Mission and sixteen months after the death of The Sorrow, The Boss returns to the Soviet Union to betray her country in what will eventually become the greatest self-sacrifice.In the midst of trade, espionage and betrayal, a familiar face comes to haunt The Boss at Volgin's dinner table.





	Dinner With The Dead

Over a year had passed since she last visited the Soviet Union. When she had arrived last, it had been summer and she could still remember the soft heat against her arms as she stood halfway over the bridge in Tselinoyarsk, each hand gripping the rope barrier that protected her from the sheer drop below. Now, it was winter, and she was somewhere on the outskirts of Moscow.

The Boss sat on the edge of her bed, eyes trailing over the drip moulding of the ceiling above her. The room had been lavishly decorated, with mahogany furniture and hand painted wallpaper that cost more than anything she could remember owning. On the nightstand beside her, one of the attendants had placed a bowl of fruit and a bottle of wine, accompanied by a crystal wine glass. The Boss scoffed.   
“Volgin knows how to treat a guest.” She said, bitterly. She had not yet seen Volgin since her arrival hours ago. She was escorted to her room by one of his attendants who promised to wait on her every whim should she need it. The attendant had visited The Boss every hour or so, asking the same set of questions repeatedly until The Boss’s patience ran thin and she finally demanded to know where Volgin was.   
_“Colonel Volgin has business to attend to, madam. He apologises for the inconvenience.”_  
The Boss cursed when she heard this, time had slipped by so slowly in Volgin’s manor and every moment she spent there felt like an eternity. She was even denied the privilege of a sleep due to the attendant’s constant pestering. Even the fruit and wine remained completely untouched; The Boss’s hunger was for Volgin, not for complimentary gifts.

A sudden rapping on the door drew her attention away from the ceiling. Standing from the bed for the first time in hours, The Boss opened the door and was less than amused to see the same mousy-haired attendant facing her.   
“Madam,” She begun, breathless from running the two flights of stairs to The Boss’s room. “Colonel Volgin has invited you to have dinner with him.”   
The Boss pursed her lips into a thin line. “I have not travelled halfway across the world to be Volgin’s dinner guest. Does the Colonel understand the importance of my visit?”  
The attendant blushed and nodded quickly, her mousy bob bouncing as she did so. “Yes, madam. The good Colonel asked to discuss matters over dinner, since you have not eaten since your arrival.”  
The Boss regarded the small woman for a second, running her eyes over her face. She had not noticed before, but the woman had tried to hide a bruised eye beneath a layer of makeup and a scar ran from her neck to her collarbone. The ‘good Colonel’ indeed.   
The Boss sighed. “I will have dinner with Colonel Volgin but tell him not to expect any games. I came to discuss serious matters, not to be entertained.”   
“Yes, madam.” The attendant nodded.

-

At half seven, the attendant came to collect The Boss. The Boss had showered beforehand, deciding that she should look fresh and alert for the occasion, though she was never going to dress up for it. The attendant led her down the large staircases which led to a foyer on the first floor. The foyer was also decorated expensively with its ornate marble flooring and large framed paintings of deceased ancestors. A few tables stood pressed against the walls, each one showcasing an elaborate piece of art or a photograph with government officials.   
_“And he has the nerve to call Americans capitalist dogs.”_ The Boss thought, after passing through another corridor.   
The attendant stopped outside a large double door, crafted in the same mahogany as The Boss’s living quarters.   
“Madam.” She said, as she pushed open the door.   
The door opened to Volgin’s dining room, where he sat as head of a large dining table. A few of his GRU Majors sat with him, though he saved his left-hand seat for The Boss. He stood up once he saw her.   
“Ah! The Boss, such a pleasure it is to have you tonight.” He said, his voice echoing from the empty walls.   
The Boss gave a curt nod. “The pleasure is all mine.”   
Volgin smiled at that and pulled out the seat to the left of him and beckoned The Boss to sit next to him. “Sit next to me, Joy. We have a lot to discuss.”   
She walked past the GRU Majors on the right, all dark haired and unremarkable, save for the one directly next to Volgin. He was white-haired and pale, strangely feminine. He looked at her with feline eyes and his mouth curled into a small smirk as she took her seat opposite him. She hated him already.   
“This is Major Raikov, Joy. He’s recently been promoted to the rank of a GRU Major, quite remarkable for someone his age, don’t you agree?”   
Raikov almost purred when Volgin said this and The Boss simply folded her arms in response. She’d been commander of COBRA before she had turned twenty-two. This stupid boy was nothing.

From the kitchen at the end of the dining room, The Boss could smell the scent of cooked meat and she suddenly realised how hungry she was.   
“Smell good?” Volgin asked, a smile playing on his lips. “We thought we’d try something a little _western_ in honour of your arrival.”  
She decided not to take the bait. “It smells delicious? Steak, I presume?”   
“In a stout sauce,” Volgin finished. “Though after tonight I feel like you’ll prefer to have your steak marinated in vodka.”   
The GRU Majors chuckled to themselves whilst Raikov snorted into his wine glass. The Boss remained stone faced and her brow furrowed in annoyance. Volgin noticed.   
“There’s no need for the hard face, Joy. We’re all friends here. There’s no shame in being a turncoat if it’s for all the right reasons.”   
Before The Boss could react, an attendant slipped through the double door and shuffled towards Volgin. He whispered something into his ear before Volgin brushed him off, irritation on his scarred face.   
“To hell with him! We’ll start without him!” Volgin took a sip of his drink before shouting across the room. “And where is our dinner?”   
“Am I right in thinking the young Major will be late again?” Raikov said, casting a knowing, smug look Volgin’s way.   
“Worst thing we did was give him his own unit! He seems almost too good to attend meetings with his own superiors.” Volgin spat, sinking into his leather seat.   
The Boss wondered if the staff Volgin employed had a sixth sense for his anger since they departed the kitchen with speed after his outburst. A plate of steak was placed in front of The Boss, with fresh carrots, roast potatoes and sauce in a little pot. She began to cut into the steak and turned to face Volgin, who was pouring the sauce over his own plate.   
“Better than the gruel we make our men eat, that’s for definite.” He said laughing to himself. “But enough about food, we need to talk business.”   
“We do,” The Boss chewed through her steak, reading the plan over in her mind. She turned to the GRU Majors who were studying her every move. “I’m sure you’re all aware that I plan to defect to the Soviet Union.”   
The men nodded, apart from Raikov who was eating his dinner with such ferocity The Boss wondered if he might choke.   
_“Get that child out of adult matters.”_ She thought angrily.   
“We understand that,” One of the Majors said. “The question is why?”  
The Boss stopped cutting her meat and placed her cutlery to the side. Turning to the men and stopping at Volgin, she began to speak. “The American government have not been kind to me in recent years. The Bay of Pigs Fiasco was pinned on me, whilst I lay burned and unconscious in a hospital bed, barely living. Then, less than six months later, they send me to Tselinoyarsk to eliminate an old friend and ally.” She paused. “Why should I fight for a country that calls me the enemy?”   
Volgin laughed and took another swig of his drink. “There is your answer Major! I call back to my previous quote. There is no shame in being a turncoat. Now,” Volgin placed both hands on the dining table, leaning in close to The Boss. “The Soviet Union is happy to welcome you with open arms, but we will expect something in return.”   
The Boss folded her arms, a small smile on her face. “I will give the Soviet Union three things. One is the reunification of the greatest unit ever formed. Two is the protection of Sokolov from American interlopers. And finally, I will personally give you a pair of Davy Crocketts for your hospitality tonight.”   
A sinister grin curled into Volgin’s face at the words ‘Davy Crocketts’ and he lifted the remainder of his drink into the air.   
“Welcome to the Soviet Union, Joy. Here’s to a long mari-”   
“Apologies, Colonel.”

 The table turned to the door, where a young man stood in the hallway, gloved hands keeping the door open. His stance was cocky and unashamed as he sauntered into the dining room, carefully picking out a seat to dine with Volgin.   
“Major Ocelot, it appears you have missed dinner. Hopefully you will be here long enough for dessert.” There was an edge to Volgin’s voice and the young man did not cower from it but rather nodded, almost amused.   
“Of course, Colonel.” He said, removing his red beret and placing it upon his lap. He scratched the bridge of his nose with a leather-clad hand and The Boss watched him as he did so. He was no more than eighteen, clean shaven and handsome. His skin was fair and unblemished, jawline prominent with strong cheekbones. He slowly pulled off his leather glove with one hand, revealing long, thin fingers, fingers that looked too much like ones that once stroked The Boss’s face. He turned to face the kitchen, arm propped against his chair and candlelight flickered across his face, casting shadows and darkening his blonde hair. The talk from the Majors disappeared into the air and the rest of the room melted into nothingness, until the only things left were herself and the young Major.   
She was staring at a ghost.   
_“No. No. No. This isn’t real. I’m tired. I need to sleep.”_  
Major Ocelot rotated to talk with another Major, the profile of his face teasing The Boss. It was too familiar; the young man could have been a double for The Sorrow with the same alabaster skin and angular face. When he smiled at the Major’s joke, his mouth lifted to once side, the same way The Sorrow would smile at her when the rest of the unit had long been asleep.

“What about you, Joy?” Volgin asked, catching her off guard.   
“I’m sorry,” The Boss blinked and shook her head. “I wasn’t listening.”   
Volgin huffed. “No matter, I suppose the topic of American culture would bore you anyway, since you’re now officially an ally to the USSR.”   
The Boss couldn’t throw back a retort, so she continued to finish her dinner which was now stone cold.   
_“I’ll look up and he’ll be back to normal.”_   
The Boss glanced up from her plate and looked at Major Ocelot once more. She breathed a sigh of relief. His mannerisms were too cocky and self-sure for him to be The Sorrow, his face too expressive. In fact, his eyes were nothing like her lover’s. They were blue when The Sorrow’s were grey, they were unamused and hard when The Sorrow’s eyes were open and emotive. They were not The Sorrow’s eyes at all. No, no.   
They were hers.

The room began to spin, and The Boss quickly rose to her feet, knocking over her drink in the process. She staggered against the wall and she never broke contact with the eyes staring back at her.   
_“Those are my eyes.”_  
Everything seemed to be collapsing in on her, the walls felt too small, the room too cramped and a sickness rose from her stomach up to her throat.   
_“I’m not staring at a ghost. I’m staring at my son.”_  
She grasped the curtains for support while the men at the table rose to help her. She pushed further into the wall, unsure of the world she was in. Her son was taken from her, ripped from her womb by a field medic on the shore of Normandy so long ago. He could not be sitting opposite her now, there was no possible way for him to be here. This wasn’t real, it couldn’t be…   
When Volgin grabbed her by the shoulder, she was torn from the hurricane within her mind and thrusted back into the realm of reality.   
“What the hell has gotten into you, Joy?” He shouted as she pushed his hand from her shoulder.   
“I’m tired,” She said, refusing to look at Major Ocelot. “I need to go to bed.” That wasn’t a lie, her knees were weak, and she felt as though an unseen force was pushing her down into the Earth.   
Volgin cocked his head in scepticism but eventually relented. “Very well, you’ve travelled far. I’ll ask Maria to escort you back to your room.”  
“I’ll decline that offer, thank you.” The Boss said quickly, knowing she couldn’t face company. She paced out of the dining room and nearly collapsed as she tripped over one of the display tables in Volgin’s foyer. When she reached her room, she shut the door and locked it, her breathing quick and rapid.

“No. No.” She murmured to herself as she clumsily unbuttoned her shirt. She stood naked opposite the mirror, acknowledging her body for the first time in nearly twenty years. From her navel to her breasts, a large serpentine scar curled over body. The field medic was no midwife and he’d left her with a memento of the child she lost in France. The child that sat with her at a table and stole her eyes.   
“Why have you done this?” She cried. “Why did you let me see him?”  
She was told the price of the mission would be her life. What cruel fate allowed her to finally see her son, only to take her from him again?  
She looked at her own reflection. She had aged since she last stared at herself, when she was twenty years younger and life was simply for war.   
“He mustn’t know.” She said. “We are nothing to each other.”  
She slowly backed away from the mirror and collapsed into the soft sheets of the bed. Pulling up the blanket up to her neck, The Boss curled in on herself and turned off the lamp, plunging the room into total darkness.   
“He mustn’t know.” She repeated as she felt the tiredness take over her.   
_“He won’t know.”_


End file.
